


Invitation, Infiltration

by Ozymanreis



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [58]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Disguise, Disguised Sherlock, Espionage, Hiding in Plain Sight, Identity, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Sex, M/M, Mischief Managed, Political Alliances, Politics, Secret Identity, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 12:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3447365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dear me, <i>Mr. Mycroft Holmes</i>…" He giggles against Sherlock's neck, "What brings you to the balcony?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invitation, Infiltration

**Author's Note:**

> #72: Mischief Managed

The colonies. District of Columbia. Some sort of meet-and-greet for people of "minor positions" in their respective governments.

Sherlock really shouldn't be here. 

He'd picked his pompous brother's pocket whilst he was in an angry huff (stemming from a quarrel that Sherlock incited), and "borrowed" an ill-fitting suit from his closet that he found least repulsive. He promptly went to a tailor to get it altered so it looked neat — a supposed head of MI6 wouldn't be caught _dead_ in something even one size off. 

It's dangerous, and if anyone were alerted to his presence, he'd surely be imprisoned and most likely tortured. Of course, Mycroft would never turn him in, and most of the guests here were too wrapped up in themselves to notice anything awry. Probably hadn't even checked the photo on the ID badge. But it would only take _one_ person's notice — what was life without a little risk?

Polite conversation was made. Names were dropped. Still, everyone stood a little straighter whenever he used the name "Holmes." Even brought him pithy offerings of drink, sweets or classified information. Apparently the great prat was good for _something_. 

The room tapered into silence as someone began a toast. Someone important, most likely, _for_ someone important (whatever _that_ meant). However, the disguised detective couldn't find it in himself to care enough to listen for a name, because upon grabbing a fluted glass to raise in reverence, he noticed something.

No, not some _thing_. Some _one_. Noticing _him_. No. How? How could _he_ be _here_? Crisp, freshly-pressed Westwood suit. Big, brown eyes that could fool you into thinking he was innocent.Dark hair, slicked back to assure all he put time into his appearance.

The man's glass was raised, not at the speaker, but oh-so-subtly in Sherlock's direction. He winked and took a small sip, never breaking eye contact. 

Jim Moriarty. Leaning against the farthest wall, blazing pupils still piercing through the throng of dignitaries. 

He was _there_ … and then he wasn't. Some faceless mass blocked Sherlock's line of sight… and then nothing. Curious. Sudden onset obsession. Sherlock immediately took to crossing the floor, shoving past the crowds, no longer preoccupied with subterfuge.

Following down the hallway, he only had an inkling as to where Jim would go… however, with someone so shadowy and slippery, it was the only thing he had to go on.

Sure enough, he saw a figure out on the veranda, the glass walls giving him away all too easily. Which meant that the consulting criminal _wanted_ Sherlock to find him. Suspicious, of course, but… 

" _Jim_." Sherlock hisses, stomping out onto the terrace, throwing him against the part of the building made of solid wall, face a barely painted silhouette in the moonlight. 

"Dear me, _Mr. Mycroft Holmes_ …" He giggles against Sherlock's neck, "What brings you to the balcony?"

"Shh!" Sherlock's eyes dart to the glass door, "We could be heard."

"Oh relax, Sherlycurls." Jim snickers, "The closest person is the Bulgarian ambassador, and he's busy chatting up one of the Russian lovelies." 

"How did you know I'd be here?" 

"It's the social event of the season, darling…" Jim drawls, "The only one you _weren't_ invited to, but your brother was. The laws of petty sibling rivalry almost _demanded_ you'd be here."

Sherlock held back a grumble — to deny this would be to give Jim the satisfaction of watching him stumble for a _real_ reason, which he didn't have. Perhaps this was yet another venture into adolescent misbehavior, but he wasn't about to _admit_ that, either. "You've got some nerve being here."

"So do you." Jim points out, but shrugs, scanning the halls, looking incredibly bored, "Honey, even if we were _right_ in the middle of it all, _they_ are all too involved in _themselves_ to notice anything."

Sherlock sighs. He had a valid argument. Still, he can't help but steal another glance inside before embracing Jim, pulling him into an absolutely brutal kiss. It was like _breathing_ for the first time in almost a year (closer to nine months, but there wasn't a convenient word to sum up that length of time), teeth, tongue, panting, gasping, the criminal pinned against the wall. 

They break away after a moment, Jim almost kicking Sherlock back so he could catch his breath. A full minute passes just of obscene heavy wheezing before Jim chuckled, teasing him slightly, "How've you been? I haven't seen you since that long weekend in Vienna."

Sherlock scoffs, "If by 'long weekend' you meant 'a month of debauchery,' then no, we haven't even been near each other…" 

"Ah, well, you can imagine time sort of just… _blurs together_ around that period for me, seeing as we never really slept… or were sober…" Jim drones casually.

The tiniest of reluctant smiles crosses Sherlock's features, walking slowly back over to Jim, drawn to him just by the _memory_. Oh, that month. "Absinthe doth make the heart grow fonder." He spoke what had become something of a motto for them during that time, "I suppose I know what you mean, I only realized we'd been gone so long when Mycroft went on some tirade about how I can't just _disappear_ like that, or burn down half the Austrian countryside and expect him to bail me out." 

"Which was funny, seeing as that was _me_." Jim grins, "Thanks for taking the rap." 

"Gratitude is meaningless."

"Mm… just the expectation of future favors." The smaller man considers, grin growing devious, "Which means I need to repay you somehow…" He got on his tip toes, kissing Sherlock softly, "I think we've gotten everything we need from this little soirée, don't you?"

"I agree." He swallows thickly, "Um… I wasn't exactly planning on sticking around…"

"I'll cancel your flight, honey." Jim winks, "And lucky you, I've got a room at the Hilton." 

"Slumming it?" Sherlock mocks, "Thought you'd have a little chalet rented out."

"Usually." Jim replies, entwining their fingers, "But I figured we could get into more trouble in a bigger crowd…"

"Excellent point." Sherlock concedes, letting himself be dragged off by the most dangerous man in Europe. 

And no one at the party, the hundreds that could arrest either of them for high treason, arson, larceny, espionage, was ever the wiser. 

Obviously, the shadows were infinitely more interesting. 

 


End file.
